


Amnesia

by TheChief, YourForever



Series: Every Breath Is A Chance To Know Yourself [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to describe this, Maybe - Freeform, Strange to say the least, Uh.. yeah.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChief/pseuds/TheChief, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourForever/pseuds/YourForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pictures that you sent me they're still living in my phone<br/>I'll admit I like to see them, I'll admit I feel alone<br/>And all my friends keep asking why I'm not around</p><p>It hurts to know you're happy, yeah, it hurts that you've moved on<br/>It's hard to hear your name when I haven't seen you in so long</p><p>It's like we never happened, was it just a lie?<br/>If what we had was real, how could you be fine?</p><p>This is how it happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a song/member or prompt request on Tumblr (bring-me-the-superwholock.tumblr.com) or on Twitter (@LittleBlueMys). Updates will be posted on both of those accounts, as well as hints about the next fic when I'm working on them because my friend convinced me.
> 
> Leave me comments. It's insane how much comments mean to me. Comments, kudos, bookmarks... It all lets me know that this stuff is being read, yeah, but it's also being liked.
> 
> I can't tell you how much those comments/kudos/bookmarks keep me going. Everytime I get an email about one I get all giggly.
> 
> Keep 'em coming for me?

"Drink." There's a bottle being pushed into my hand and I take the beer without complaint. "It might not help you feel better, but it's the best I can do, baby girl."

Ashton sits, his shoulder pressed to mine. I don't know where we are for sure, only that Ashton had picked me up off his porch and dragged me to his car and drove here.

"It was a stupid fight." I mutter, hugging his too large sweater tighter around me and ignore the fact that I can still smell Michael's cologne on it.

"Most of them are." Ashton points out, before going silent.

I can't let that last, instead bringing myself to ask. "Who are you guys touring with?"

"You'll never believe it." Ashton's smirk is all too telling, except I know I will believe it. I'm proud of them, I really am. I just.. I mean, Michael hadn't exactly told me that he'd agreed to do this whole tour thing and that he was gonna be gone and I didn't know for how long and so I ask all of those questions. Ashton answers.

I don't get suspicious or worried, only feel rotten for being a terrible excuse for a friend to all of the boys.

My phone is a few seconds away from dead so I type out a text ( _I'm sorry. Really._ ) and finish off my beer. My parents are gonna kill me tonight.

"Can I sleep on your couch?" I ask the question even as I'm telling my mom I won't be home tonight.

"Don't see why not."

I offer the empty bottle to him and he hands me a new one. My phone chimes with a call and I hear my little sister, who believes herself to be the band's biggest fan, squealing on about how something's wrong because Michael was knocking on the door and she didn't know what to do so she'd told him I was off.

At her next inquiry, wondering what I'd done to fuck it up, my phone beeps twice before shutting off and I let it die. It's the least I can do really.

"You wanna go back?" Ashton had probably heard most of that with how loud her voice got. Instead, I shook my head.

"Nah. Not yet. I'll track him down later.. apologize in person."

Except I don't because by the time I plug my phone into a charger, I'm almost asleep on Ashton's couch and call me a lightweight, but three beers is more than enough to put me out for a few hours.

So I don't think about it. Not until the next morning, when I have a missed call from Michael and an answer of _We need to talk_. It's just cliched enough for me to worry, but the room around me is silent anyway and I figure Ashton must still be asleep, so I call him then.

"How can I help you?" It's him but the phone against my ear is still ringing so I turn and see him, just a few yards back, stepping out of the kitchen.

I hang up my phone and drop it back to the side. "You wanted to talk."

"Still do." He nods, walking closer and I feel distress knotting my stomach and reminding me that I could be temporary when this man and everything he stands for - everything he will stand for - will be forever.

"Did you get my text last night?"

"Yeah." He nods again, keeping his answers short and worry shoots through me and it's too late to go back to sleep because I'm wide awake. "You look like I'm about to kill your kitten." Finally, he cracks a small smile, eyebrow arched in question.

I give a small sigh of desperate relief hoping it's all good. "I thought you might for a second."

His expression goes confused for a moment before realization dawns and he's pulling me into his arms and back down onto the couch. "We need to talk about it still. At length. Probably multiple times before anything is actually settled into place. I'm glad you're sorry, and I am too, but I'm not ditching you for that, babe."

Then it's real relief and I know I'll hate whatever talk we have if only because it means that he'll be leaving me and I can't follow him. Not yet. I will, but for now I have to stay focused.

He brushes a kiss to the back of my neck and settles us both against the couch. "It's a little before eight. Go back to sleep. I'm only awake because Ashton called me."

* * *

 

I knock my shoulder against his with a crooked grin. He laughs back, his fingers slipping between mine and pulling me along, following the pulse of the crowd around us.

We’d arrived early enough to get a good parking spot and we make it to the car easily, just waiting on a few other friends of his.

“Was it worth it?” His lips are brushing up against the skin of my neck, just below my ear. I can’t help but nod, fighting for a moment to get a full breath.

“Yes.” I lean against him automatically, tension easing from my shoulders. And it’s true. I managed to forget that I was in a too crowded room and just focus on the music and the arm around my waist.

I slip my arms around his neck and lean back, not fighting it as he pushes closer. After a moment, I push myself up onto my toes, dislodging his mouth from my neck long enough to shift, sliding my own over his.

Of course, there’s a wolf whistle nearby before anything can actually progress and I groan and pull back, leveling a glare at the group of boys heading our way.

“Aw, why’d ya stop?” One of them grins and I automatically flip Luke the bird.

“C’mon.. We’ll head back and see if Liz is still awake for a movie night.” I sigh at Ashton’s words, releasing Michael and moving to step back. I get as far as he lets me before his arm is back around my waist, keeping me close.

“Nah, I’m still on my concert high. Not quite ready to head home.” Michael’s voice is behind me, giddy and excited and I can’t help but let him have his way.

“Seconded.” The word is barely past my lips before Michael is dragging me away from the small group of boys, waving goodbye. I manage to call goodnight through my giggles and we’re away, sliding into my mom’s car, Michael behind the steering wheel.

Almost thirty minutes later, we’re both still grinning and sticky with drying sweat from the close quarters of the concert since the air conditioning doesn’t work and only one window rolls down.

We can’t make ourselves care as we climb from the car and Michael slips up behind me, sucking a mark onto my neck.

I giggle again before swatting at him, moving away and making my way to the pathway around back. The back door slides open silently and I motion for Michael to lead the way in. He’s knows where to go.

By the time we’re in the basement with my door locked behind us, I’ve got my fingers pressed against his sides, beneath his shirt and he’s licking at the hickey already on my neck.

* * *

The first time I hear one of their songs on the radio, I immediately call Michael. He doesn't answer, but then again, he's off being a rockstar. I leave him a message, laughing, with bits of the song in the background. I call Cal next and he answers. I squeal and give congratulations to which he accepts, throwing my words over his shoulder to the others.

A few moments after I hang up, my phone vibrates with a text. I wait until I'm back at home, unbuckling my seatbelt before checking to see Michael's icon appear on my phone. ( _Thanks, babe. Love ya._ )

* * *

 

I finally get around to creating a Twitter a few weeks before one of their trips back home. It's how I find out about the tattooed bands around his arm. There's a picture with tons of comments, most of them with lewd words that are only to be expected from obsessed fans.

I send Michael a message on there - or a tweet, I guess - but he doesn't reply and it takes me a while to realize that's because there are hundreds of other people sending him messages too.

Instead, I send him a text, giving him my handle or whatever you call it. After a few minutes of silence I forward the message to the other three boys, because this way we can all stay in touch with them gone.

A few minutes later, they're all following me, though Michael's the first notification I get.

I don't notice the repercussions of this until later that night, when I'm on, playing with the different features and I update my feed. My notifications are going crazy and I notice a huge list of tweets from people, all mentioning me.

I'm all giddy at first, until I realize what they're saying.

I don't get on again for another week and by then, they've all thankfully moved onto another topic. Except, it's an old picture of me and Michael that someone managed to get ahold of.

It's one we took a while back, both of us making goofy faces with Ash in the background.

Half the group is saying that it's adorable and the other are commenting on Michael's arm around my waist and the fact that I'm in one of his oversized flannel's.

I back out of that conversation quickly and go about my regular business. By the end of it though, someone has recognized that picture and linked it to my Instagram where there are plenty more, one of us kissing, another with him curled around me on Luke's couch. One at the movies where we're holding hands.

Three people in particular get to me. The first because she's commenting and tweeting at me that he's hers and that I need to back off. Two because of a picture she posted on her own, tagging me in it. It's her with all four of the boys, a long line of girls behind them.

She calls me plenty of bad words, telling me that I'll be replaced soon enough now that he's out and about, with plenty of access to prettier, skinnier girls who are throwing themselves at the whole group.

Her included.

The third because I'm following her and she messages me personally, saying she's sorry about what everyone else is doing, which is fine. Until I look at her profile and see her talking about pushing me out of the picture and laving him with her tongue. In explicit detail.

I log out of both accounts and leave it.

When Michael and the boys come home the following Tuesday, I bring him back to my new flat and keep the door locked. I'm the first one who gets to lick the tattoos on his arms and the fact is enough to remind me of why I'm better than them.

* * *

 

A month after Michael's and my weekend in bed, his hair is a whole new colour and he's back on tour again. I, on the other hand am stuck in an office far from my flat.

The waiting room is painted warm colours, but they've been dulled down, though that could just be my perspective.

I hear my name called and look up, eyes wide.

"You ready?" The nurse asks. I nod my head, stand, and follow her back.

* * *

 

I know it's a boy and I haven't said a word to Michael. He came home two days ago and leaves in a week and now is the perfect time to tell him.

Except when I get to his house he's not home so I call Cal and Ash, but no one's answering. When I try Luke it goes straight to voicemail.

I turn around, head home, and my eyes stray from the road to my phone more then they should.

When I get home, I know I'm out of options.

Michael calls me back a few hours later, apologizing profusely. I hurt inside as I make my decision and ask him to come over for the night.

He does and I get to spend it in his arms again.

* * *

 

Two years later and I find myself in London, my baby boy holding my hand as we walk along the sidewalk. He doesn't know his father, but it's on the birth certificate. I couldn't erase him completely.

This way though, he didn't always have a parent in and out of his life. Or worse, Michael could've rejected me completely. I didn't give him the chance to decide.

Instead, I pick my son up and ignore the green of his eyes, his father's. They're paired with my brown hair so I can almost forget. He's used to my smile so he hums a silly song and tucks his nose into my neck, away from the bite of an October's wind.

I don't like to think about leaving my apartment before Michael woke up. About the note I left on the door explaining that I was sorry, but I had to leave because I couldn't let our son be born with a ghost of a parent.

He goes by Mikey now, but even that is enough to send a shaft of aching need through my heart, so painful I think I might break sometimes.

I've tried replacing him, I have, but the man I'm with now doesn't quite the allure of kids, nor is eager to get close enough to find out, just find a warm bed and a drinking buddy for parties.

Two teenage girls pass me, wearing the band's shirts. Michael's hair is a strange new mix of colours and I want to run my fingers through it. Instead, I pull the IDIOT flannel tighter. I stole it from him on that last night. The only thing I would let myself keep of his.

By now, most of the IDIOT has faded or chipped, but it's still there and I can't find myself willing to give it up anytime soon.

My leather jacket is over it, because they're popular and if people saw the shirt, they'd know. Or they'd think that it was a fan made knock off, but I still wanted to keep it myself.

Even though I know it won't be helpful at all, I redirect our evening walk and we both go by the stadium they're supposed to be playing at tonight.

* * *

We yell. I know it's getting to my son, but it's useless by now. My new fiance knows my weaknesses. Knows how to drag me down to a place where I'll realize what's wrong, where I'll turn around and beg for him to forgive me.

He knows how to manipulate me and I can't find it in myself to leave just yet. I know it's wrong and it goes against everything I was taught.

Still, it's a few months past when it should be before I kick him out. I treat my son and I to an evening on the town. We're at dinner, when the news turns to a close up interview with 5sos, I feel a sudden wave of homesickness and turn my back to the television in the corner, instead asking about today at school.

 

* * *

 

I find myself getting more and more frustrated with this whole life away from Sydney thing. On my son's third birthday, we go home for good. I move back into my parent's house. According to them, Michael drops by frequently, but they had no idea where I was either, only, from my emails and frequent picture updates, that I was okay.

Apparently, he's living in my old flat, keeping it occupied. I make them swear to keep my a secret. They say it's no worry because they haven't heard from him in almost eleven months.

He's moving on.

Good.

* * *

 

I'm at my four year old's friend's house when I get a text from my mom. _Don't come home._

I know it's because he's there. They've been emailing, keeping him supplied with pictures, as usual, but this is the first time he's stopped by to visit since I got back.

* * *

 

"Blow out your candles." He does, the little flame above the five flickering before going out completely.

"What did you wish for?" My mom asks as she brings plates and ice cream. I go about cutting the cake, almost slicing into my finger when he answers.

"Dad."

And so, I force myself to leave the table, to find that journal from when I was young. I track down the hastily scribbled number from when I met Luke - because of course I knew him first - and then, after that, the others, all still tucked into an envelope taped to the backpage along with my first note from Michael.

He doesn't answer, the phone line having been disconnected so I try the next one. Finally, Calum answers, sounding sleepy. I feel almost guilty because I haven't been keeping track of where they're at.

"Hey, can I talk to Michael? I have someone here whose asking for him."

**Author's Note:**

> Because I couldn't let it end on a bad note. I'm not so heartless.


End file.
